From above, on the upper floor, through the barred window of the jail where Quaderna is imprisoned, he sees the outskirts of the backwoods village. The sun trembles in his view, glinting on the nearest stones.

From the wild, thorny, and stony earth, beaten by the blazing sun, a burning breath seems to rise, which could be the gasp of generations and generations of outlaws, of rude mystics, murdered for years and years among these wild stones, or it could be the breath of that strange beast, the land. Quaderna sings.

Noble Ladies and Gentlemen listen to my frightful Song: the misfortunened men of Sinésio, the Luminous One, the Scepter and its spark on the red-gold Flag of my dangerous Dream then!

He looks at you and smiles.

Do my verses please you?